


Another Day's Work

by A_Big_Old_Skeleton



Category: Metal Gear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-15 08:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12317130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Big_Old_Skeleton/pseuds/A_Big_Old_Skeleton
Summary: Another day on the job for the Diamond Dogs.





	1. Chapter 1

It has been several minutes since the gunfire stopped and Helen’s ears are still ringing. She does not remember precisely how long she’s been on the floor of this fucking building being alternately beaten and subjected to questions shouted in a language she doesn’t speak, but then again time stopped having any meaning… at some point. At any rate, all the shouting and gunfire appears to have at least distracted her captors. It makes a nice change from being beaten, although it is now equally likely that whoever won the ruckus outside would treat her no better - hell, it is most likely that nobody will even find her here, and when the Russians move back in (as they always do), they'll find a half-starved corpse and decide to kill her to save themselves the trouble. 

She hears something the could be footsteps and debates the merits of calling out. Drawing attention to herself would probably go badly (assuming her thoughts re: being dead either way are correct), but it doesn't seem to be up to her to decide, as there's the unmistakable sound of someone fiddling with the lock, followed by a click. Helen would look around the room, only she's still got a black bag over her head. There's the sound of the door swinging open, and suddenly heavy footfalls approaching. 

She opens her mouth to say a tentative “hello” but is interrupted by a set of hands that roll her on her stomach (a little roughly, she thinks, and her stomach drops at what this could portend) and there's suddenly a tug at her bindings followed by a snap and her hands are free, and then the bag is off and she rolls over and looks up at her rescuer, and her first coherent thought, after her eyes adjust to the sudden intrusion of light, is  _ holy shit _ . 

The woman looming over her has red hair, she thinks, although the red coloring could be a result of her being covered in blood that can't possibly be her own. She seems to tower over Helen, one hand still holding a knife, the other hanging somewhat loosely at her side. There’s a dripping sound which is unquestionably blood, which casts something of a macabre pall over the scene. 

“Can you walk?” Her voice is accented - Spanish, maybe? Helen is still, perhaps, a little bit in shock at the sudden appearance of a blood-soaked soldier(?) and is slow enough to respond that the woman frowns. “Can you talk? Do you speak English?” 

“Er, yes, sorry.” Helen tries then to scramble to her feet, and almost immediately falls over again as one of her knees adamantly refuses to take her weight. “I don’t think I can walk. Sorry.”

This answer doesn’t so much seem to annoy her rescuer(?) as it does disappoint her. “Yeah, it’s been that kind of day.” There’s a crackling noise and she puts a hand to her ear. “Golden Canine reporting. Yes, I am still alive, sir. No, they are not, sir. Comms equipment has been disabled, but I don’t know how long - no sir, she cannot. Fulton extraction is a no-go, sir. Yes sir, that was my thought as well. I estimate twenty minutes, sir. Confirm. Confirm. Home in time for dinner.”

Before Helen can ask what all that was about, Golden Canine (what the hell kind of a name is Golden Canine, anyway) has slung her with a surprising gentleness over her shoulder, causing a surprised “oof” to escape. When she’s recovered from her surprise, she blurts out “What the hell is going on?”

“I thought that was obvious.” Canine replies with a grunt, “I’m getting you out of here.”

“Yes, but…” There are a million other questions she could ask at this point, but the first thing that springs to mind is this: “Who sent you?”

It is a new experience to feel Canine shrug as she is being carried. “Nobody. Our intelligence unit reported you were being held captive, did some digging, assembled enough information on you to show you were worth the time to rescue. Helen Troy - your parents thought they were real clever, I’ll bet - late of the  Médecins Sans Frontières , medical specialist working in the Afghan combat zone. One of a group of five who disappeared without a trace and are presumed dead - which, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, is absolutely true for the other four. No family, no friends apart from colleagues in the MSF,” she chuckles at some private joke after saying this, “and a gifted trauma surgeon.”

She continued, but Helen has stopped listening after hearing that her friends were all dead. It had been pretty obvious that was the case, of course - the assault on the village where they worked had been sudden, violent, and altogether brutal. When she’d been unceremoniously tossed into the back of a truck that was clearly being used for prisoners, and none of her friends had been tossed in there with her, it seemed pretty obvious what had happened. 

She feels like she was going to be sick, and says so. 

“Shit, don’t puke on me - I’m dirty enough.” GC (or so Helen has decided to think of her) sets her down gently and Helen gets up on her hands and knees (well, hands and knee) and retches but has nothing in her stomach and sobs and coughs and apologizes. 

There’s a moment of silence, and Golden Canine realizes with a guilty start that she’s probably the first person to tell Helen her friends are all dead. She’s buried her fair share of comrades - hell, she’s buried a few acquaintances this  _ month _ , after a mission to disrupt supply lines had gone bad - but she’s got a pretty big support network, and the Boss himself had performed the memorial ceremony, and you saw those deaths were in the service of a greater cause, fighting for their comrades - the only loyalty that mattered. Helen’s friends probably hadn’t gotten anything, were being picked over by wild scavengers. Canine realizes that she’s dealing with someone who has been deeply traumatized by a solid month of hellish captivity, and she doesn’t have a clue what to do. She thinks of what the Boss would say, and pats Helen’s shoulder awkwardly. 

“Your comrades did not die in vain. They died fighting for something better than… all this. And make no mistake, you can continue the fight - if you want. But right now, you need better medical care than I can give you, and the Soviets are going to notice one of their bases has gone dark pretty soon, so I need you to be tough, okay? I’m going to pick you back up and we’re getting the hell out of here. It’s not much further.”

Helen is dizzy from a combination of exhaustion, grief, and nausea, but she forces all that down and nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Golden Canine slings her back up and over her shoulder, and Helen spends the next ten minutes focusing on staying conscious, because if something goes wrong she wants to be awake to see it happen, wants to have a shot at helping, or escaping or… something. Golden Canine moves with a loping stride, breathing a little harder now but still not showing much in the way of exhaustion for someone who just massacred a Soviet stronghold. After a few more minutes have passed, she speaks up. “Where are you taking me?”

“Mother Base. It’s… well, the location’s a secret, sort of. You’ll meet the Boss, and decide what you want to do. If you work with us, you’ll stay there. If you don’t, we’ll do our best to get you back home.”

“The Boss? Boss of what?”

“Well.. boss of our outfit. The Diamond Dogs. We’re a uh, private military organization. We do work in areas like this, fighting for people desperate enough to turn to us. We have loyalty to no nation, just… loyalty to the fight.” The last words make Helen raise an eyebrow. 

“The fight?”

“Yeah. We’re soldiers, so we fight. Simple as that - but we choose what we fight for rather than blindly following a country’s ideology. We go where we can do the most good, without having to wait for a bunch of bureaucrats to decide they’re going to screw over some country because they’re playing some global game of chess. We’re a haven for soldiers who want to be more than pawns.”

Helen would press her further, but the sound of a helicopter causes Canine to freeze and crouch. She shucks Helen off her back quickly and makes it clear that Helen shouldn’t move or say anything. They’re in tall grass, and the copter roars overhead and rocks in place, stopping directly overhead. Helen finds herself holding her breath, and Canine has unslung her rifle from her back and is pointing it up ( _ would bullets even do anything? _ Helen thinks) when suddenly mixed in the roar of the chopper comes the strains of David Bowie’s “Heroes,” and Canine shouts something into her radio, and then Helen is being bundled onto a fast attack helicopter and the Afghan landscape is falling away.


	2. A Pleasant Helicopter Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helen takes a pleasant ride in a helicopter and meets the boss of this whole outfit.

Helen comes to with a start at the sudden thump of the chopper landing. Golden Canine is sitting across from her, head down, apparently not so easily woken. The pilot spins down the engine and looks back for the first time, giving Helen a friendly grin.

“Sorry to wake you - this is just a fueling stop. We'll be back in the air in 10 or 15 minutes, if you want to stretch your legs.”

Helen considers this offer, but her legs still feel like jelly and the only thing she can think of is how hungry she is. “I don't suppose there's anything to eat, is there? I, uh, don't actually remember the last time I ate.”

At this, the pilot gives her a look full of sympathy. “Of course. I'll get you something. Sit tight.” 

Helen doesn't know why he's being so  _ nice _ to her, but she nods and says thanks as the pilot unstraps from the seat and exits the chopper, reappearing a few minutes later with a bag containing what ends up being the best cheeseburger Helen has ever eaten in her life and a couple bottles of water. Helen knows she shouldn't eat too fast, knows what she would say to someone in her position as a medical professional, but ends up inhaling the burger anyway and feels a little sick but also like feeling a little sick is completely worth it. The pilot watches the whole display with a grin on his face. 

It's only then, as she begins to get her thoughts in order, that Helen realizes they're on a boat in the middle of the ocean. “Where the hell are we, exactly?” 

“We’re on the Arabian Sea, a couple hundred miles south of Pakistan. I'd say we're about another three hours from our destination, give or take. We’re making pretty good time.”

“What is our destination, exactly? Canine was a bit hazy on the details.”

“A series of floating platforms off the coast of Africa is about as accurate as I can get. Sort of near - do you know the Seychelles islands?” Helen shakes her head. “Well, it's near those, anyway. Our commander chose the location because he didn't want to be beholden to any nation, so we built our own.”

Helen isn't particularly sure how to respond to this information, so she settles for a nod and a vague noise that sounds like “oh.” 

That seems to be the end of the conversation, because the pilot starts strapping himself back in and flipping switches which, Helen assumes, are necessary to make the helicopter fly. As the rotors begin spinning, she settles back on the bench and looks at her rescuer again, who is still asleep and, in the growing sunlight, looks even more ghoulish than before. The blood has begun to flake and crack in some spots, while in others it looks disturbingly sticky. Her hair (which, in the morning light, appears to actually be red) is sticking together in clumps, stuck together with dried blood. It’s a strange thing to see this killer, clearly very good at her job, sleeping with an expression undisturbed by, well, the fact that she’s responsible for the deaths of an outpost’s worth of people ( _ just how many soldiers were stationed there _ , Helen thinks, and realizes she has no idea - and what’s more, she’s not certain she wants to know how many were killed so that she could go free). 

Helen loses track of time for a moment, still worn out from the whole ordeal (and, at least for now, fed), and might nod off for a bit. A sharp banking motion jerks her back into consciousness, and she looks around wildly, fearing for one dreadful moment that it was all a dream and she was still in that jail, waiting to die, but it’s not the case. Instead, as she looks out the window, she sees a massive structure in the water. It’s like an offshore oil rig, except there’s more than one platform and there are other helicopters in the air and she can see groups of people milling about - some seem to be training, others patrolling, and one platform is still clearly under construction. She cranes her neck, trying to see more as the pilot says something indistinct into the radio. 

“Hell of a sight, isn’t it?”

The sound of Golden Canine’s voice (Helen makes a mental note to ask what her actual name is so she doesn’t have to keep thinking of her as “Golden Canine”) causes her to jump slightly in her seat, something Golden Canine is polite enough (or maybe experienced enough with recently rescued prisoners) to not mention. 

“It’s…  _ huge _ .” 

“Yeah, well we’re a sizeable organization. We’re even expanding, as you might have noticed. Our medical staff kept asking us for more room. Hell, it’s one of the reasons we came after you - we’ve got our fair share of volunteers, but if we can give the Soviets a black eye and get a new member in the bargain, well…”

Helen frowns as an unpleasant thought strikes her. “So if I was just some unfortunate bastard and not a potential recruit?”

In what is rapidly becoming a familiar move, Canine shrugs. “Hard to say. We get requests for this sort of thing all the time, so I wouldn’t rule it out, but…”

“But you don’t go unless there’s a reason, hmm?”

“I hate to say it, but we can’t save everyone. Hell, it’s lucky our intel team even caught wind of you. The Soviets don’t run a tight ship, but it’s tight enough that some unfortunate bastards stay unfortunate, and come to unfortunate ends. We do what we can, but…” she trails off and sighs. “It’s never going to be enough.”

“Er, don’t get me wrong - I’m insanely grateful that I’m not going to be beaten to death in some dingy room, I just… I don’t know what exactly I’m trying to say, but-” Fortunately for Helen, the copter starts to descend, and makes a surprisingly gentle landing on a helipad. Helen sees a group of three men headed her way - two masked soldiers and one man who looks, well… 

He’s tall, broad of shoulder, and the sunlight glints off a red metal arm and a black piece of  _ something _ jutting out of his forehead. He has a beard, and an eyepatch, and everything about him, in spite of his being quite visibly unarmed, seems to scream “do not fuck with me.” Canine’s eyes widen, and she breathes in sharply. “Holy shit. He came?”

“Who?”

“That’s him. That’s the Boss.” Golden Canine sounds very much like someone who just saw David Bowie in a supermarket. “He’s a legend - he meets with everyone who joins up, but it’s not usually so  _ soon _ .”

“And, I assume, you don’t get much one-on-one time with him otherwise?” Helen feels very nervous, suddenly.

“No, he’s usually in the field or cooped up on the command deck.”

“In the field?”

“Of course! He takes on missions, same as the rest of us. Probably the toughest ones, too - chasing after the bastard responsible for… All this.”

Helen opens her mouth to ask what exactly ‘all this’ means, but then Canine is sliding the door open and there's a rush of sea air and noise. Canine hops out of the copter and turns back to offer a hand, which Helen accepts. She is thrilled to discover that she can stand now, sort of, as long as she is able to lean on Canine (the smell of blood is still there, but less than before). Canine wraps one arm around Helen, steadying her, and salutes with the other. 

“Boss! I didn't expect you to meet us so soon.” 

Boss, for his part, waves a hand dismissively. “At ease, soldier. Miller filled me in on the details of your mission. You've had one hell of a night.”

Canine shrugs noncommittally. “There were some complications. I was spotted and had to improvise.”

“Impressive improvisation. Our intel team’s been listening to the radio chatter - they seem to think I was responsible.”

Even under the blood caked on her face, Helen spots Canine’s blush. “Respectfully sir, if it had been you they wouldn’t have known anyone was there until they saw the missing prisoner.”

“Don’t be so modest. I’ve been spotted before too, you know.”

As the two talk, Helen stays off to the side, observing this “Boss” a little more closely. He’s smiling as he talks with Canine, looking for all the world like a proud paternal figure. Helen gets the impression that he cares deeply about his soldiers - small wonder, then, that Canine seems to hold him in such high regard. Helen tunes back into the conversation in time to hear the Boss tell Canine to grab a shower and take some well-earned R&R, and then he turns his eye on Helen.

“I assume Canine told you why your rescue happened?”

“You’re in need of doctors.”

He nods, then extends his hand. “I’m forgetting my manners. I’m called Big Boss.”

“You don’t have a real name?”

“I did, once. I don’t now. I’ve left that life behind.” There’s a roughness to his voice when he says this, the briefest flash of pain flickering across his face, and Helen begins to wonder what exactly it is he left behind. “It’s not like I can get everyone to stop calling me Boss anyway.”

This causes Helen to laugh, and the rush that comes with her sudden burst of laughter makes something in her psyche crack a bit, and she finds herself crying and laughing. Big Boss crouches down and places a hand on her shoulder protectively. “There’s a lot to take in here, I know.” He summons another soldier who was standing nearby.. “Escort our new guest to the medical bay, and schedule some time with one of the counselors too. We can talk about employment once she’s found her feet.”

Helen pulls herself together enough to mumble a thanks, and then she’s whisked away.

**Author's Note:**

> Look if I want to do a story about the time I got impatient and decided to murder everyone in an outpost to get at the prisoner within I will. It's not Venom Snake because I always use members of the combat unit on side ops - Venom has shit to DO, okay, he can't be rescuing every little prisoner that comes his way. Basically the image of my blood-soaked soldier kicking down the door on a terrified prisoner, only to rescue her and carry her back to the rendezvous point was too good to not fictionalize.
> 
> God help me but I think I could probably wring another chapter out of this fucking thing (I mean Helen hasn't even met Venom yet, and she doesn't know Canine's real name or history, and uh... Look, this could get out of control real quick if I let it). We'll see if I am inspired to go back to it at some point, when I'm not working on other nonsense.
> 
> Also I play MGSV on the PC, so your ass better BELIEVE that Pequod actually did rock up blasting David Bowie's "Heroes."


End file.
